I'm Keeping My Baby Weight, Thank You

Most of the time I'm okay with it. But then, there are moments like my recent trip to the fitting room. Trying on clothes with my mom, I threw off my shirt and bent over. It was an unconscious move. I didn't know how it would affect me — or my stomach. I was simply reaching for the new shirt to try on, but then I saw it.

I could not blame the horrible florescent lighting for the squishy rolls of fat that now constitute my belly. In that moment, my little stomach pooch looked more like a Great Dane, and I was immediately self-conscious. Embarrassed, I quipped, "I'll get to the gym sometime," knowing in my (large) gut that I would not. It's been two years, and I still haven't lost all the baby weight.

Ellen Caranasos

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While I was pregnant and eating whole pizzas, I fantasized about what it would be like being a mom. There were itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny shoes and teeny-tiny hands to hold. There were tiny blankets and even tinier diapers. Sure, the fantasy is rarely as good as the reality, but in this instance it was true. I was surrounded by tiny. In fact, everything was tiny — but me.

It's strange to discover that those 50-plus pounds of baby weight don't actually all disappear when you have the baby. (Some do, thank goodness.) When I was pregnant, I knew I was gaining more than I'd ever gained, but I was carrying a baby. Those little suckers weigh a lot! I thought I was keeping my weight in check simply because I urinated every 3.2 seconds.

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Even so, I stopped looking at the scale at about six months pregnant. My body was expanding exponentially, and I began to feel like a football linebacker without the speed or the strength to play football. During my monthly pre-natal visits, when asked to get on the scale, I stood facing away from all those scary numbers. I could hear metal clunking behind me, and the longer my pregnancy went on the louder the clunking became.

Sure, I used to be eating for two, but today all those extra pizzas and whole loaves of bread hang around my neck like a whole extra neck.

Courtesy of Tonilyn Hornung

As a first time mom, my baby and I discovered a new world together. Hand in tiny hand, he and I learned that breastfeeding isn't as easy as it looks, that white shirts hide great amounts of spit-up, and trying to get to the gym on three hours of sleep a night is nigh impossible.

I know there are some moms out there that can do it, and let me just say now that I salute you. I am in awe of your constant energy and drive, and I wish that I could Zumba in your New Balance shoes. These days my fantasies revolve more around how to get an extra eight minutes of sleep. I mean, I am chasing after a 2-year-old, so that's got to burn some calories, but it doesn't shrink my hips or get my Play-Doh of a stomach back to where it should be.

My closet sits as it was before I was pregnant — a shrine to the me I used to be, and possibly one day can be again. But for now, those pre-preggo skinny jeans will have to wait. I have a child to raise. Some days I just don't like this extra weight (even though my husband says I look beautiful no matter what — as he should!), but I am learning that it's okay.

It's okay if I'm not the me I was before my son came along. Why? Well, I have a baby. A 2-year-old baby. And he looks at me like I'm the most gorgeous person in the world, and that's how I feel. And I wouldn't trade that for all the skinny jeans in the land.